


Letting Her Hair Down

by Rinari7



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Comments That Could Be Construed As Minor Will-Bashing, F/M, Foot Massage, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: Nikola loves those little moments when, safe in her Sanctuary with a glass of wine in her hand, Helen loosens up a little.





	Letting Her Hair Down

Helen Magnus never got drunk. At least, not truly, properly sloshed. **  
**

But, on rare occasions, when all the residents had settled in for the night, and no emergencies shrieked for attention, and the staff were all catching some sleep before the unfortunate sap scheduled for the 2 AM feedings was forced to stumble back out of bed, Helen would perch on the couch in her office, the lights low, and open a bottle of wine.

Nikola made it a point to be present on those occasions. For the wine, of course. It was always a fine vintage.

And for the conversation, as well; it ranged from the most recent abnormal incident, or the shift of current politics, or days long past (even longer past for her), to the last book she had made time to read, or her research, or his (her offering not-at-all-subtle suggestions for what he could work on next that would be especially useful — ones he took her up on more often than he was willing to admit out loud).

And, ever-so-slowly, as the words flowed between them and the second or third glass was poured, she softened. No, Helen Magnus never completely took off her armor, but sometimes she laid sword and shield aside, unpinning or -tying or -clipping those dark locks, her posture a little less ramrod-straight, resting sideways against the cushion as she faced him.

She smiled a little more easily, and her pointed glances weren’t as sharp, a little more amusement — afraid of wishful thinking, he didn’t quite dare call it affection — bleeding through her gaze.

“We really need some nonreactive clear substance that’s stronger than glass or plexiglass.” She toed her shoes off, the heels arranged neatly beside one another on the floor.  
“I do so hate putting down all the acidic veraxins we find, but we simply have no good way to contain them.” She grimaced, flexing her stocking-clad feet before she drew them up onto the couch between them. For all that her heels flattered her, he imagined they weren’t the most comfortable thing in the world.  
“Silicate glass breaks, and their secretions will eat through almost anything eventually, and they’re practically immune to the effects of high voltage unless it’s a deadly dose.”

Helen swirled the wine in her glass contemplatively as he took a sip of his. His fingers itched, and, on an impulse, he set down his own glass and gently drew one of her feet into his lap.  
She gazed at him for a moment, as he gently passed his thumbs over the sole of her foot, silently asking permission, and then she continued.

“They’re such peaceful creatures, really, but they need sunlight, and of course they don’t like being confined — and yet we can hardly let them roam free.”

Gently, he began kneading the ball of her foot.

It wasn’t the first time she’d brought up the topic, though he’d been focusing on improving the Sanctuary power grid’s efficiency and robustness first (with a few — okay, more than a few — custom tweaks and designs he’d been dying to try out, and Wolfgang’s fanboying had been incredibly gratifying, even if that was another thing he’d never admit aloud).  
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll find some way to hold the big bastards in next time.”  
(He hadn’t been here last time, otherwise it would have already been done.)

“I have faith in you.” She smiled, and he wasn’t sure if that was satisfaction or pride or a challenge in her eyes. Then he hit a knot in the arch of her foot, and she pressed her lips together, her eyes slipping closed for several moments.

He simply watched the expressions play over her face, the slight grimace when he dug in, the tension as he worked over the spot, the slow relief as the muscles relaxed.

His tongue ran over his lips, and he cast about for something to say. “What’s Junior doing out for so long? Not that I’m not happy to have one less of the kids around, a little more privacy…”

She ignored the quip, seeing through it as the reflex it was, most likely. One of the downsides of someone knowing you so well, though he never could bring himself to care.  
“He’s supervising Sally’s visit to her people. Officially, solely to organize transport and to take a few days off, but he also mentioned something about looking to study their interaction… I sometimes think he hasn’t quite stopped thinking of them as scientific curiosities.”

“Well, you do study abnormals.” He smoothed his thumbs over the sole of her foot again, the sheer fabric warm under his touch.

“It was… something about the way he said it. As though he still thinks of them as _other_ , some —” she grunted quietly, grimacing as he dug a knuckle into that one spot in the middle of her foot, “— some sort of morbid fascination.”

He made a quiet noise of acknowledgement, his attention on his work.

She let out a sigh as he slowly eased the pressure, a small shudder running through her as she relaxed. “It’s not that he doesn’t treat them with respect. I’m not afraid of that.”

“Well, he isn’t an abnormal. I can’t say I ever really expect humans to understand.” Nikola shifted, reaching for her other foot, which she willingly set in his lap.

“You’re still partly human. You _were_ human once. Have you forgotten that?” Her gaze was pointed, though her eyelids fluttered as he began to apply pressure — just the right amount, if the small noise she let out before she clamped her lips together is any indication.

(If Wilhelm were here, or even Wolfboy, he’d surely be fielding accusations that he had an agenda. They must have been blind, if they couldn’t understand that seeing her like this — being allowed to do this for her — was a damned reward in its own right.  
Though, if she had asked for something _else_ , he certainly wouldn’t have refused.)

“Watch your language,” he admonished, with very little of the bite of the first time he had pronounced those words. “And you’re not human any longer, either. Or have you forgotten?”

She arched her eyebrows and smiled, though it was wry, humming agreement as she raised her glass to her lips again.

Nikola couldn’t decide whether the fact she had stockings on, black and oh-so-sinful translucent fabric separating her skin from his, was a very bad thing, or a very good one.

“Thank you.” She tilted her head, glancing towards where he drew his fingers down either side of her Achilles tendon, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes again.

His throat was dry. “I have mentioned I’m good with my hands, haven’t I?”

He couldn’t tell if her answering groan was pleasure, or discomfort from the tense spot he had just found, or simply her particular brand of amused longsuffering she seemed to reserve just for him. Still, he grinned.


End file.
